The Stone Demon

Twenty-one





Look upon the Sunless City,” said the demon. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

The city spread out far below, buildings and streets and alleyways like a living, three-dimensional map. All the light came from a variety of scattered structures. There was no order to anything—at least, not one that Donna could recognize. There were small buildings next to large. Narrow streets that opened into huge, red-streaked highways. A river the color of dull iron wound snakelike through the center, and towers that almost touched the sky seemed to grow from the very ground itself.

There were no people. No living things scurrying about their business on the streets below. No birds flying through the dusty air. But then, Donna thought, why would there be? They were in the Otherworld. The Underworld: a land of the dead.

Demian watched her taking in the terrible beauty of his world. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her with an intensity that made her want to hide.

“Come,” he said. “I will take you where you need to go. Time grows short.”

He extended his hand, palm up, waiting for her with all the patience of a centuries-old tree waiting for rain.

She took his hand. It was cool and dry, his skin even paler than hers. He tugged her toward him, so that she was forced to take an extra step. She found herself in the circle of his arms, looking up into those strange eyes.

Donna held her breath—one hand in his, her other touching his chest to keep him at a distance. Here she was, dying in another world under a strange sun with the king of the demons. Life as a daughter of the alchemists had seemed pretty extreme … wood elves and half-fey boys, magic and changeling girls … it all pushed the boundaries of what she believed was possible. The emergence of her own power, bound for a decade by people she’d once trusted, was yet another step into the unknown.

But this … this was something else. She felt lightheaded, and wondered if their altitude was affecting her. Or perhaps it was the crimson dust that tickled her nostrils and made her feel like she constantly needed to clear her throat.

Demian didn’t move. He didn’t attempt to pull her closer, but he also didn’t release her. The cool mask of his face cracked and the corners of his mouth raised, just slightly. It was the first smile Donna had seen that didn’t seem touched by cruelty.

“Donna Underwood,” he said. “I would have you for my queen.”

“Your queen?!” Donna pulled her arm back, but the demon held her with a grip of iron to rival her own.

“Think about it: you are deeply unhappy in your world. I know this is true. Together, we could rule. Not just this realm, but all the realms that stretch throughout eternity. With my strength of will and your ability to access other realms, we could rule not just one race—but all of them.”

Horror crawled through Donna’s chest like a living thing, making it difficult to breathe. “Let me go.”

She tried to jerk her hand free, but Demian simply drew her closer. His other arm clamped her to his body, and it was like being pressed against the cool weight of stone. His silver hair stirred in a sudden breeze.

“I want you.” It wasn’t a statement. It was a declaration of intent.

A demand.

Is this what he’d meant when he’d appeared to her that night on a quiet London street? The Demon King’s eyes were glittering, just like they had then.

“I am well accustomed to getting what I want,” he added.

“Too bad,” Donna said, trying to catch her breath in the vice of his arms.

“I will have you,” he said. His expression was impossibly arrogant.

“You don’t want me,” Donna said, as panic fluttered in her stomach. “You only want my power.”

“Semantics,” he said. “You hold the power, therefore I want you.”

“Want? You want? What about what I want?”

Everything felt too intense, too real.

But if it felt real to her, hopefully that meant it felt just as real to Demian. She wouldn’t let him take what he wanted without a fight. She was way better than that.

The Demon King loosened his hold on her. Just a little. “Perhaps I am not only talking about your power. Perhaps I speak of something … more.”

“Like what? Love?” The temptation to laugh was rising dangerously. Donna swallowed it down and tasted bile in the back of her throat.

“If that is a word that means something to you,” Demian said.

She met his inhuman eyes. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about love.”

“And you, child, don’t know the first thing about me.”

“‘Child’? Right. A child. So … you want to be with this ‘child,’ do you? Sounds kind of twisted to me.”

His eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on the back of her neck. “It is just a word. You are much younger than I, therefore you seem childlike to one such as me.”

“Exactly. So why not go find someone your own age?”

His lips twisted. “What you don’t realize, Donna Underwood, is that the very thing that gives you your power—that sliver of first matter that resides in your soul—is older even than I am.”

That little revelation hit Donna like a slap in the face. What did it mean? Was it true?

Demian moved one of his hands so that he could touch her face. “I see ages-old wisdom in your eyes. Not your wisdom, of course, but the ghost of something ancient that lives in this human shell. With you by my side, I would be truly immortal.”

“See? It’s not about me at all. And, for the record, I will never stand by your side.”

His lips curved. “Never?”

Donna ignored the hunger in his eyes. “Never.”

“Never is a very long time,” he replied, his voice suddenly deadly serious.

“So you might as well give up now.”

“I am a patient man,” he said. “I waited for my freedom for two centuries.”

Donna shivered. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll be long gone by then.”

“Perhaps.”

“Let me give you a tip, Your Majesty. If you want to get the girl, you might try not grabbing her and forcing her to do your bidding.”

“I grow tired of your arguments.”

“And I’m sick and tired of everybody in my life treating me as some kind of weapon. Now I can’t even die in peace—I have the King of Hell trying to use me.”

Demian’s eyes narrowed to onyx slits. “Don’t pretend you wanted to die. You knew that the blade would not truly kill you. You were like Inanna, beating at the very gates of Hell and demanding we grant you entrance.”

Donna didn’t know who this Inanna was, but she liked the sound of her. “I didn’t know, not for sure. I had a feeling.”

“And what do you think gave you that … feeling?”

She met his gaze, trying not to shake under its heat. “My female intuition?”

“The prima materia guides you, and even now you try to deny it. You make jokes rather than face the reality of your power.”

Donna slipped her right arm out of his embrace, hauled back, and punched him as hard as she could. In the face.

Even with all the iron covering her human flesh and bone, she felt as though her whole fist had just shattered. And the result of her punch was sort of comical: Demian took a single step back while she fell to her knees, tears of pain filling her eyes.

“Shit,” she whispered, glancing down to check that her hand was still intact.

The king of the demons touched his jaw, gazing at her with something that looked suspiciously like wonder. Donna’s mind flashed back to the joke Robert made about how Demian would probably like it if she hit him.

She swallowed, still clutching her injured hand, resolutely pushing those thoughts away.

“I should punish you for that,” the demon said. But it sounded like he was only really saying it out of habit.

“Punish me? Like this isn’t already punishment enough. What the hell is your jaw made of, anyway?” Donna stumbled to her feet and shook out her hand. “Don’t answer that.” She glared at him. “Listen, all I want is to find the grove, get the fruit, and see if there’s any way out of this nightmare.”

“You stabbed yourself with the Ouroboros Blade. Your life is forfeit! Only I have the power to release you from death.”

“Well, good for you. You got me. I’m in your power. I bet that really gets you off, doesn’t it?”

Demian advanced on her. “You are treading on very thin ground, girl … ”

“Oh, really? And what are you going to do to me? Kill me?” Donna laughed in his face, knowing that she sounded slightly deranged but not even caring. She wasn’t a pawn. She would not be a weapon—least of all for a petulant demon who didn’t know the first thing about common decency.

Demian looked down, his perfectly unmarked jaw clenched. Unchecked emotion passed over his face like a storm. It was the most expressive Donna had even seen him.

She swallowed, terrified. Waiting.

She was still expecting some kind of attack, so the fact that the Demon King wasn’t doing anything at all shocked her more than whatever he might have done.

He turned away. “I will take you to the Grove of Thorns. You will need all your remaining strength for that. The Philosopher’s Stone is more important to me than your lack of respect.”

Raising her eyebrows, Donna wondered if she could call this round hers.

Demian transported them instantly to the city below, and they walked side by side through what looked like a low-budget movie set for a western. Donna half expected Clint Eastwood to appear at the other end of the dusty street. She wished Navin—the real Navin—was here to make a silly comment about tumbleweed and awkward silences. These were the slums of the Otherworld. The closer they got to the Gallows Tree, the less activity there seemed to be.

Apart from telling her where they were, Demian was quiet, contemplative. She wondered what he was thinking about. Was he angry with her after her outburst? He didn’t seem to be. What did a demon king have to occupy his thoughts? Revenge? Perhaps. Did he think about Simon and the alchemists? Maybe he was planning his attack, figuring out how he would redecorate the world once he was in charge.

Donna was distracted from her own thoughts by a sudden movement she saw out the corner of her eye, but each time she turned her head, whatever might have been there had already disappeared. After this had happened several times, she grew increasingly frustrated and stopped walking.

Demian stopped beside her. “What is wrong?”

“Are we being followed?”

“No.”

“Watched?”

The corners of his thin mouth curved. Very slightly. “Possibly.”

She searched the dark windows of the nearest wooden structure. “From inside?”

He nodded. “Many call the Otherworld their home.”

Home. What a strange word to call … Hell. Donna shivered.

“Who is watching us?”

“Here?” Demian clasped his hands loosely behind his back. “Scavengers, mostly.”

“But what about—?”

“You ask too many questions. It will soon be night here, and you need to enter the grove before darkness falls.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.”



The Grove of Thorns was exactly what Donna had expected—only twice the size and ten times more unwelcoming. She shielded her eyes against the disorienting half-light and swirling dust, looking across a wide expanse to her final destination. Everything was so desolate here. The grove was entirely surrounded by rose bushes, but even they didn’t help improve how bleak everything was. They were black roses, after all. At least now she knew where Demian got his seemingly endless supply of the stupid flowers.

Somewhere in the middle of all that twisted vegetation was the Gallows Tree. But before she could even think about going into the grove and finding it, there was a slight problem to be dealt with. She swung around and faced Demian.

“You didn’t say anything about a river.”

He shrugged. “Should I have?”

“Some kind of a warning might have been nice,” she muttered.

The river was wide and black as coal, glittering and swirling in a way that made her stomach twist in response. It looked cold.

“Warnings are unimportant,” Demian said. “You must cross the river one way or the other. Knowing about it in advance does not change that fact.”

Donna crossed her arms. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to get wet.” She glanced at him hopefully. “Unless there’s a bridge? Newton said something about a Wailing Bridge … ”

Thinking of Newton made her think of Nav, and fresh panic bloomed in her stomach. She still had to find him, make sure he was safe. And she still had to, somehow, get her hands on the tear of a demon. One thing at a time, Underwood, she told herself. One thing at a damn time.

A muscle flickered in Demian’s jaw. “Newton talks too much. The River of Memory and Forgetting does have a bridge, but it is not that which he named. That one is in the main part of the city.”

“Figures. So I have to swim.” Donna’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not a very good swimmer.”

“No,” Demian said. “There is a choice. You can enter the water and relive a forgotten memory, or you can walk across the Bridge of Lies.”

Donna searched the river bank, gazing longingly at the grove beyond it. “There’s no bridge. What are you talking about?”

“Look again.” He pointed, and as she followed the line of his pale hand she saw a crumbling bridge rising out of the water like a black spider.

She shivered. “What happens on the Bridge of Lies?”

“I cannot tell you. It is different for each person who crosses.”

“Will it hurt me?”

The corner of Demian’s mouth lifted. “Not many survive it.”

“But I’m dead anyway,” she said, trying to control her fear. “So I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

His smile widened, almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t reply.

“What about the river? How safe is that?”

“If you don’t swallow any water, you might yet live.”

“Fine.” Donna sat down and began unlacing her sneakers. “I was just thinking that it looks like a nice day for a swim.”